


One Way or Another

by wynnebat



Series: Author's Favorites [10]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Banter, Daddy Kink, Developing OT3, Established Relationship, Father/Daughter Incest, Multi, Polyamory, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 10:16:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14133984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wynnebat/pseuds/wynnebat
Summary: Peter and Malia drive Stiles to distraction. Glorious, glorious distraction.





	One Way or Another

**Author's Note:**

> I blame Teen Wolf ‘Cest Appreciation Week for giving me the excuse to write this ;) If TW incest is your jam, check out the [info post](https://twcaw.tumblr.com/post/168372623359/what-you-should-know) & [themed prompts](https://twcaw.tumblr.com/post/168660696189/prompttheme-list).

Stiles tips his head onto the back of the couch in a silent plea for help. This had been a mistake. Everything that had led up to this moment had been a mistake. When he’d dragged Scott into the woods with him that night, he should’ve realized something as horrible as this would happen: that his girlfriend and her sort of dad would _never stop arguing_. When he’d first started encouraging Malia to get to know the Hales, there had been something vicious under Malia’s words as she talked to Peter, something she couldn’t talk about outside of the middle of the night when she wrapped herself around Stiles and said _he understands me better than my real dad_. Peter hadn’t been cruel back; by the look in his eyes when Malia stood in front of him, he hadn’t been able to. Some of his wonder has faded now that months later, Malia is more than a stolen memory or a girl who might decide to have nothing to do with him, but it hasn’t entirely gone away. It makes Stiles feel weird to see it in a way he doesn’t really understand, so he usually just ignores it.

Now, when Peter smirks at her from the armchair and says, “I’m just saying, I never particularly loved my parents, but I acknowledged them as my own,” Malia’s growl isn’t particularly strong.

It’s just a rumble in her throat, loud enough for the three of them to hear it but nothing like the way she’s growled at their actual enemies. “Shut up, I’m not calling you Dad.”

Stiles stares up at the ceiling and starts wondering if he should stick some stars up there for his entertainment when he’s stuck in the middle of this segment of the Hale family’s sniping. They’re not even angry with each other—which is a marked improvement—it’s just that Peter loves to wind people up and Malia never backs down and Malia’s legs are resting on Stiles’ thighs, which means he can’t subtly get away. They’re in Peter’s apartment, where Stiles loves to snoop through the bookshelves, but if he gets up Malia will pout at him…

It’s stockholm syndrome, really, the way Stiles can’t seem to say no to Malia’s pout or Peter’s offers. He’d known that the text inviting them to dinner would just mean an entertaining meal followed by lazing around on the couch while the father and daughter did their thing, but Stiles hadn’t even considered saying no.

When he tunes back into the conversation, Malia’s saying, “You’re still not my dad if I don’t acknowledge you as my dad. I’ve read all about the various definitions of family. Really, you’re a deadbeat dad more than anything else.”

“I am _not_ ,” Peter says. “I didn’t even know about you for the first seventeen years of your life. Although, if you want to call me that, you’d still be acknowledging me as your father.”

“That’s why I’m not, _Peter_ ,” Malia huffs, trailing her hand over Stiles’ arm.

Stiles won’t ever admit that her possessive gestures are the best, even if they’re pointless here. They’ve been at Peter’s place a thousand times. But he’s reached the tipping point of dealing with their sniping, so he groans, “Oh my god, if you want someone to call you daddy, I will.”

It’s meant to be a joke, but Peter’s tone is far too calculating as he says, “Will you.”

Stiles lifts his head so that he can properly roll his eyes at Peter. He’s still slumped down on the couch, and Malia takes it as her opportunity to shift her position so that she can pull him against her. Stiles is really glad he got his masculinity issues dealt with back when he was pining for Lydia, because frankly he’s never going to be the big spoon with Malia. (And, possibly, he really doesn’t mind. He gets to sit between her legs and rest his head on his girlfriend’s boobs while she pets his hair and Peter watches indulgently. What’s not to love?)

“He does smell like arousal a lot around you,” Malia comments.

Stiles would flail his way off the couch at that if he had his way, but Malia doesn’t let him move an inch. It’s hot in bed—and okay, the usually rest of the time, too—but not when he’s embarrassed. With a betrayed look, he says, “I thought you didn’t notice that!”

Malia huffs at him and tugs at his hair. “It’s not like you’re subtle about it. You said hot damn under your breath that time Peter took off his shirt to show us his own triskelion tattoo.”

“In my defense,” Stiles begins. He pauses, and Peter and Malia are assholey enough to let him stew in his pain for a few long moments. They really are related. “In my defense, Peter is really hot. But! I wouldn’t have done anything with him. Ever. I’d never cheat on you.”

“Oh, I know,” Malia says, patting his head. “I’d skewer anyone you’d cheat on me with.”

Peter raises an eyebrow, but Stiles just tilts his head back to beam at her properly. “That’s one step better than eviscerate. High five for progress!”

Malia indulges his high five, but instead of letting his hand go, she threads her fingers through his. It’s another point of contact, one he finds he needs when she says, “But it’s not cheating if I’m here with you.”

“I don’t think I’m following you,” Stiles says, and it’s a dirty lie, but he refuses to consider Malia’s words. That kind of thing, it’s for dirty fantasies while he’s jacking off. It’s not real. It can’t be real because otherwise Stiles might actually die from how fast his dick would go from 0 to 100. (Okay, actually it’s more like 30 whenever he’s around Malia or Peter, but semantics.)

Malia rubs his hand in a textbook move of manipulative comforting. Stiles would know, he’s helped her learn enough human mannerisms over the past few months. “I thought threesomes were something all men were interested in.”

“I certainly am,” Peter adds calmly, as though he’s not talking about one with his daughter.

Stiles’ brain short-circuits. His dick, sadly, doesn’t. “Incest doesn’t usually factor in those fantasies.”

“It does in yours,” Peter retorts.

Pleading the fifth won’t help him here. Neither does looking over at Malia, who only shrugs and says, “He’s not horrible-looking.”

“I passed all my good looks down to you,” Peter says approvingly.

Malia bares her teeth at him while Stiles makes a strangled noise. He can just see the both of them playing tug of war with Stiles as the naked, writhing mess between them, and he wants it so much he can barely breathe. Fuck, Malia needs to give him advance warning for springing something so mind-blowingly hot on him. (Although a part of him is pretty sure that Peter’s the only one she’d even consider for this, which doesn’t make his arousal abate at all.)

Stiles turns to Peter and waits, but Peter refuses to make it easy for him.

“You have to ask for it. I do need to know you want it,” Peter says as though Stiles’ arousal isn’t visible from space.

Stiles hates him. He also kinda loves him, in that way he’d thought was platonic, maybe something that would grow into a friendship like his and Scott’s before the whole werewolf mess began. With added dirty thoughts, but dirty thoughts were easily contained when he loved his girlfriend. And now his girlfriend is right here, encouraging his madness as she always does, and Stiles is helpless to resist. “Kiss me, Peter.”

“Not quite,” Peter says, but he’s already getting up from his armchair. Two steps and he’s leaning over Stiles and brushing his hand over Stiles’ cheek. The touch is too gentle for the overwhelming desire in Peter’s eyes.

“Please?” Stiles asks. It’s not the right word and he knows it, but he can’t do it.

Peter’s smirks with the worst kind of tease. “You know what to say, Stiles.”

Stiles can feel his entire face going red. He’d gotten that word out as a joke, but now it’s stuck at the back of his throat and never coming out again. Fuck, this is all going to be ruined because Stiles is too embarrassed (and maybe too turned on, because it does things to him, that stupid word, and he feels ungrounded even in Malia’s steady embrace).

Peter pats his cheek and his attention shifts. Stiles’ heart races as he thinks he’s missed his chance, but Peter’s gaze drifts up to meet Malia’s. “Would you like to show him how it’s done, _daughter_?”

Stiles does the same, tilting his head back and swallowing as he sees Malia looking down at him. Her eyes have the barest edge of glow around her pupils and the glow only strengthens when Stiles nods. Fuck it, he wants this so bad that he’s aching for it, wants her and him and _this_.

“Only if you’re up for it, _daddy_ ,” she replies, an edge to her tone but a satisfied curl to her lips.

Stiles has the presence of mind to wonder how long this has been building while he’s been oblivious, but those thoughts escape his mind completely as he sees Peter tilt his head to meet Malia’s lips. Stiles’ angle is horrible, his line of sight mostly of their chins and Peter’s stupidly attractive neck. Malia won’t let him budge even when he squirms, but Stiles has enough reach to press a whisper-soft kiss against Peter’s chest. Thank fuck for v-necks, he thinks, and it’s probably telling that he’s thought that so many times.

After Peter and Malia break apart, they share a long look that Stiles can’t quite read at this angle, but soon enough Peter’s leaning back and raising one brow at Stiles. It’s Stiles’ turn, and a better man would probably tell Peter and his smugness to fuck off, but Stiles can’t. He can’t even imagine it.

“Please, daddy,” he says, his voice rough with every bit of arousal he feels. There’s no edge to his words, no complicated irony, because Stiles will leave that to Malia. He’ll share this want with her, take every bit of this he can.

“Good boy,” Peter murmurs, and Malia echoes him, and Stiles can’t take it anymore. He kisses Peter with every ounce of want he’s ever felt toward him, content with the knowledge that he can do the same with Malia next.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I'm also on tumblr as @[crownwithoutstones](https://crownwithoutstones.tumblr.com/).


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